Paul's New Automobile

Paul walked out of work to find a little street urchin admiring his new car. 

"Is this your car?" the lad asked with envy.

Paul nodded.  “My brother gave it to me for Christmas.”  The boy looked astounded.  “You mean your brother gave it to you, and it didn’t cost you anything?  Gosh, I wish…”

He hesitated, and Paul knew what he was going to wish.  He was going to wish that he had a brother like that.  But what the lad said jarred Paul all the say down to his heels.

“I wish,” the boy went on, “that I could be a brother like that.”  Paul looked at the boy in astonishment, then impulsively, he added, “Would you like to ride in my automobile?”

“Oh yes, I’d love that!”

After a short ride the urchin turned and with his eyes aglow said, “Mister, would you mind driving in front of my house?”

Paul smiled a little He thought he knew what the lad wanted.  He wanted to show his neighbors that he could ride home in a big automobile.  But Paul was wrong again.

“Will you stop right where those steps are?” the boy asked.  He ran up the steps.  Then in a little while, Paul heard him coming back, but he was not coming fast, he was carrying his little polio crippled brother.  He sat down on the bottom step, then sort of squeezed right up against him and pointed to the car.

“There she is Buddy, just like I told you upstairs.  His brother gave it to him for Christmas, and it didn’t cost him a cent, and someday I’m gonna give you one just like it. Then you can see for yourself all the pretty things in the Christmas windows that I have been trying to tell you about.”

Paul got out and lifted the little lad into the front seat of his car.  The shiny-eyed older brother climbed in beside him and the three of them began a memorable holiday ride.

That Christmas Eve, Paul learned what Jesus meant when He said, “It is more blessed to give.” 

Bertram and the Reindeer

Bertram and the Reindeer

By Paul T. Gilbert

Bertram was in the kitchen watching his mamma bake Christmas cookies.  One batch had come all hot and crisp from the oven, and now Bertram’s mamma was rolling out the last of the sweet, yellow dough and cutting it in the form of stars and reindeer and Santa Clauses and sleds.

“Mamma,” said Bertram, “why doesn’t Santa Clause give people the things they want for Christmas?”

“Don’t you generally get the things you want?” said his mamma.  “I don’t see that you have anything to complain of.”

“Oh, I don’t mean me,” said Bertram.  “I mean Mike Crowley, for instance.  He wanted a bicycle last year and didn’t get it, and Nadine wanted a violin – she’s a genius, everyone says.  I think it’s mean of Santa not to give them what they really want.”

“Sssh!” said Bertram’s mamma.  “What if Santa Clause should hear you?”  But she looked thoughtful.

“I don’t care if he does,” Bertram said.  “I don’t call it fair.”

“Santa Claus probably does the best he can,” said Bertram’s mother.  “I’m sure I wouldn’t want his job.”

“Oh, I should think it would be keen,” said Bertram.  “Gee, Mamma, I wash I was Santa Claus.  I’d give Ginny Banning a new doll and a doll buggy and a doll house, and I’d give Mike Crowley a bicycle and Nadine a violin, and I’d get even with George Fish.  I wouldn’t give him anything, the old greedy.”

“Why, how you talk!” said Bertram’s mamma.  “A fine Santa Claus you’d make.  What’s the matter with George Fish?  I always thought you two played so nicely together.”

“Well, he didn’t have to eat up Joe!” said Bertram.

“Joe?  Who’s he?” asked his mamma.

“Joe was my trained oyster.  I was teaching him to do tricks.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” said Bertram’s mamma.  “But I wouldn’t be so mean to George if I were you.  Anyway, you can thank your lucky stars that you’re not Santa Claus, climbing down all those sooty chimneys and wading through the wet snow.  You’d catch your death of cold, and then I’d have to doctor you and soak your feet in mustard water.  As if I didn’t have enough to do already.”

“Just the same,” said Bertram, “it would be a lot of fun to have a reindeer.  Some day may I have a reindeer, Mamma?”

“No, you can’t.  Here’s a cookie reindeer.  And now run along outdoors and play with your sled.”

So Bertram ate the cookie reindeer and went outdoors and played with his sled.

After supper that night – it was Christmas Eve – Bertram hung up one of his new stockings.  Then he went to bed to dream of Santa Clause.  He was right in the middle of his dream when he was waked up by a soft thud on the windowpane and a voice down below saying, “Hist!”

Bertram went to the window and looked out.  It had been snowing, and the world in the moonlight was all white.  Under the elm tree Bertram saw a reindeer, its whiskers white with frost.

“Was that you,” asked Bertram, “throwing snowballs at my window and saying, ‘Hist!’?”

“Yes,” said the reindeer.  “Is your name Bertram?”

“Yes,” replied Bertram.  “Were you looking for me?”

“Just a minute, then” said Bertram, “and I’ll let you come in.”

So Bertram went downstairs and opened the front door and let the reindeer in.  The reindeer wiped his feet on the door mat and came in and sat down on the couch.

“Santa Claus wants to know,” he said, “if you will help him out.”

“Are you one of Santa Claus’s reindeer?” asked Bertram.

“Don’t ask foolish questions,” said the reindeer.  “Come on and bring your sled if you want to play Santa.  There’s a costume for you in the sack – red coat, false face, whiskers, and everything.  But hurry up, will you?”

Bertram got dressed and put on his stocking cap and his pullover, but he was so excited that he forgot his rubbers.  Then he took his sled and followed the reindeer out to the back yard.  A big lumpy sack had been tossed down in the corner of the hedge.  A doll, a Teddy bear, and a stick-horse poked their heads out of it.

The reindeer fished into the bag and brought out a Santa Claus costume, and when Bertram put it on, the reindeer looked him over, and said, “I guess you’ll do.  You’re not so fat as Santa, but that will make it easier when it comes to chimneys.  Do you suppose you can drive me without jiggling the reins?”

Bertram said he thought he could.

“Well, hitch me up then,” said the reindeer, “and come on.  We’ll go to Ginny Banning’s house first.  The presents for her are right on top.”

So Bertram tied the reindeer to the sled by a rope, loaded the sack of presents on the sled, sat down behind it, and jiggled the reins and said, “Get up!”

“Don’t jiggle the reins, I tell you!” said the reindeer.  “It makes me very nervous.”

But the reindeer got up, and away they sped through the snowdrifts over to Ginny Banning’s house.

“Whoa!” said Bertram.  And the reindeer whoaed. 

Bertram looked up at the steep roof and the chimney which was buried under the snow.

“How are we going to get up there?” he asked.

“You’re a fine Santa Claus!” said the reindeer.  “Didn’t you bring along a ladder?” 

“I didn’t know we would need a ladder,” said Bertram, “but I think there’s one back of the garage.”

Bertram waded through the snow to the garage, dug the ladder out, and lugged it over to the house.  It was a very hard job, and Bertram was quite out of breath before he got the ladder in place.

“You go up first,” said the reindeer.  “Sling the pack over your shoulder.”

Bertram slung the heavy pack over his shoulder and started to climb up the ladder.  But it was just awfully rickety, and it shook and swayed so Bertram was afraid he would fall.

“Don’t jiggle so!” he called out to the reindeer, who was just behind him, prodding him with his horns.

“Don’t jiggle so yourself,” said the reindeer.  “And hurry up, will you?”

When Bertram finally got to the top, the wind was blowing the snow into his eyes so that he could hardly see, and the roof looked as steep and slippery as a toboggan slide.  Somehow he managed to scramble over to the chimney without breaking his neck, but it was all like a nightmare.

“Now, I’ll tie this rope around you,” said the reindeer, “and pop!  Down you go.”

“But what if I get stuck?” said Bertram.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” said the reindeer.  “Santa gets stuck lots of times.  It’s half the fun.  But hurry up!  You’re slower than molasses.”

The chimney was all black and sooty and it smelled worse than Daddy’s pipe.  And as he let himself down he wished with all his heart that he was home, safe in bed.

“Hang on tight to the rope and don’t drop me!” said Bertram, as he disappeared into the black flue.

It was a tight squeeze even for Bertram, and once he thought he was stuck fast.  But he reached the bottom at last, and in the moonlight filtering through the windows, he saw Ginny Banning’s stocking, long and limp, beside the fireplace.

Bertram opened the sack, but while he was wondering what to put into the stocking first, the reindeer hollered down the chimney, “Hist!  Hurry up!  Come on.”

And Bertram felt a tug at the rope.

“Wait a minute,” he hollered back.  “I can’t remember what she wanted.  I haven’t left anything yet.”  And Ginny’s little dog began to bark.

“They’re right on top, I told you, said the reindeer.  “Just leave anything then, and come on.”  And he gave the rope another tug.

So Bertram dove into the sack and pulled out the first thing he came to.  It was a stick-horse, and Ginny wasn’t a baby!

“Come on, now,” said the reindeer, when Bertram found himself back on the roof again.  Over to George Fish’s house,

“Oh, are we going there?” asked Bertram.  “I don’t like George Fish.  He ate up my trained oyster.”

“The last thing Santa told me,” said the reindeer, looking severely at Bertram, “Was not to forget George Fish.  There’s a boy for you,’ he said; ‘you want to do him handsome.’  Those were his very words.”

“Oh, all right then,” said Bertram.

So he hauled the ladder through the snow across the street, and climbed the rickety old thing, with the reindeer after him, up to the chimney of George Fish’s house.

But his feet were so soaked through by this time, because he had forgotten to put on his rubbers, that he began to sneeze, and when he landed at the bottom of the chimney, all he could do was to blow his nose and sneeze, “Quat-chieu!  Quat-chieu!”

And he woke up George Fish’s mamma.

“Who’s there?” she said, as she came out of the bedroom with her hair all done up in curl papers.  “Well, I declare!  If it’s not Santa Claus.  And sneezing his head off, too.  You might have known you’d catch cold on a night like this without your rubbers.  Take off those wet shoes right away, and I’ll make you some chamomile tea and soak your feet in mustard water.”

So she took off Bertram’s shoes and stockings and went out into the kitchen to heat the water for the chamomile tea.  Bertram just hated chamomile tea.

Then the reindeer hollered down the chimney.  “Hist!  Come on!” he said. “We’ve got to go.”

“I can’t,” said Bertram.  “I’m barefooted and I’ve got to have chamomile tea.”

“Have what!” said the reindeer.

“Chamomile tea!” shouted Bertram.

“Yes.  It’s coming,” said George Fish’s mamma.  “Just be patient a minute longer…Now!  Just swallow this pill first, and drink the tea while it’s nice and hot.  And here’s a tub of mustard water.”

So Bertram had to drink the nasty tea and sit there with his feet in mustard water while George Fish’s mamma told him what a good boy George was.

“Well,” she said at last, as she helped him on with his shoes and stockings, “you’ll feel better now.  And here’s a pair of George’s rubbers you can wear.  And thanks for all this nice big sack of presents.  George has been such a good boy, and deserves them.  I’ll see that he writes you a nice letter.  Well good-by.”

And before Bertram could explain that the presents weren’t all for George, George Fish’s mamma had opened the front door and let him out into the street.

“Oh, dear!” said Bertram, when he found himself alone.  “Now Mike Crowley won’t have any Merry Christmas, and Nadine won’t get her violin.  And – and ---there won’t be anything for me!”

Bertram began to cry.

He couldn’t see the reindeer anywhere.  Only the empty sled and the ladder remained.  So Bertram took the sled and waded through the drifts back home.

And the door was locked. And Bertram had to go back and get the heavy ladder and crawl down the chimney into the parlor….

“Merry Christmas!” 

It was Bertram’s mamma, who had come to wake him up.  “Goodness!” she said.  “I thought you’d be up long ago.”

Then Bertram remembered what had happened and began to cry again.

“Why, why!  What are you crying for?” she said.  “Get into your clothes and come downstairs and see the lovely presents Santa has left for you and Baby Sam.”

And sure enough, Bertram’s stocking was filled with all sorts of things.  A candy cane was sticking out from the top of it, and in the toe he found a red apple and a silver dollar.  And on the floor there were a pair of skates, a stamp album, and a cowboy suit.

Then Ginny Banning came running over to show Bertram her new doll that Santa had brought.  “And I got a doll house and a doll’s buggy, too.” She said.  “And just think!  Mike Crowley got a bicycle, and Nadine got a violin!  She was so happy she just cried.”

“I guess,” thought Bertram, “Santa must have finished up the job himself.  Anyway, he did it better than I could.”

The Wooden Shoe of Little Wolff

The Wooden Shoe of Little Wolff

Adapted from a story by Francois Coppee

Once upon a time, very long ago, there was a little boy name Wolff.  He was seven years old, and because he was an orphan, he was taken care of by an aunt.  She was a hard and selfish old woman who breathed a sigh of regret every time she gave her nephew a bowl of soup.

But little Wolff was naturally so good that he loved the old woman just the same, although she frightened him very much.  He could never look at her without trembling, for fear she would scold him.

Wolff’s aunt was known through all the village to have a stocking full of money in the house, but she made Wolff wear very old and ragged clothes.  The schoolmaster, who liked best those pupils who were well dressed, was very unkind to Wolff and often punished him unjustly.  The other pupils, too, made fun of Wolff’s ill-fitting clothes.  The pool little fellow therefore, was as miserable as the stones in the street, and when Christmas came hid himself in out of the way corners to cry.

The night before Christmas the schoolmaster was to take all of his pupils to midnight mass.  As it was a severely cold winter, the boys set out for the church warmly wrapped and bundled up, with fur caps pulled over their ears, heavy jackets, woolen mittens, and thick, heavy-nailed boots with strong soles.  Only little Wolff came shivering in the clothes that he wore weekdays and Sundays, and with nothing on his feet but coarse socks and heavy wooden shoes.  Wood is not warm at all, but cold.

His thoughtless comrades made a thousand jests about his rough dress; but little Wolff was so occupied in trying to keep warm that he took no notice of them.

The troop of boys, with their master at their head, started for the church.  They boasted of the fine suppers that were awaiting them at home.  They spoke, too, of what the Christ Child would bring them, and of how they would be very careful to leave their wooden shoes near the chimney before going to bed.  For in France at that time the children put out their wooden shoes instead of hanging up their stockings.  The eyes of those boys sparkled as they saw in imagination pink paper bags filled with burnt almonds, toy soldiers drawn up in battalions in their boxes, menageries of toy animals, and amusing jumping jacks.

Little Wolff knew from experience that his stingy old aunt would send him to bed without his supper, but remembering how all the year he had been good and industrious, he hoped that the Christ child would not forget him.  So he, too, looked forward to putting his wooden shoes in the ashes of the fireplace.

When the midnight mass was concluded, everyone rose and left the church.  Now, under the porch, sitting on a stone seat, a child was sleeping.  He was clad in a robe of white linen, but his feet were bare in spite of the cold.  He was not a beggar, for his robe was new and clean.  Near him on the ground were some tools which a carpenter’s apprentice might carry.  Under the light of the stars, his face bore an expression of divine sweetness, and his locks of golden hair seemed to form a halo about his head.  But the child’s feet, blue in the cold of that December night, were sad to see.

The boys who were so well clothed and shod for the winter passed heedlessly by the unknown child.  One of them, a wealthy lad, even looked at the waif with scorn.

But little Wolff, the last to come out of the church, stopped, full of compassion, before the beautiful sleeping child.

“Alas!” said the orphan to himself,  “It is too bad this poor boy has to go barefoot in such cold weather.  But what is worse, he has not even a shoe to set out while he sleeps tonight, so that the Christ Child can put something there to comfort him in his misery.”

So, out of the goodness of his heart, little Wolff took the wooden shoe from his right foot, and laid it in front of the sleeping child.  Then, limping along with only one shoe and dragging his shoeless sock through the snow, he went home.

“Look at that worthless fellow!” cried his aunt.  “What have you done with your wooden shoe, you little wretch?”

Little Wolff did not know how to deceive.  Although he was shaking with terror, he tried to stammer out some account of the good deed he had done.

But the old woman laughed scornfully.

“Ah, this young man thinks he is rich enough to give away his wooden shoe to beggars!  That is something new!  Well, since you are so generous, I am going to put the remaining shoe in the chimney, and I promise you the Christ Child will leave something there to whip you with in the morning.  And you shall pass the day tomorrow on dry bread and water.  We shall see if you give away your shoe next time to the first vagabond that comes along.”

So the wicked woman, after giving the poor boy a good spanking, made him climb up to his old bed in the attic.  Grieved to the heart, the child went to bed in the dark, and soon fell asleep, his pillow wet with tears.

But the next morning, when the old woman went downstairs, what a wonderful sight met her eyes!  She saw the great chimney full of beautiful playthings, and sacks of delicious candies, and all sorts of good things.  And there to her surprise she saw the right shoe, the one that her nephew had given to the little waif, standing by the side of the left shoe which she herself had put there.

“Goodness gracious!” the aunt exclaimed in unbelief.

Little Wolff, hearing his aunt’s exclamation, ran downstairs and stood in ecstasy before all the splendid presents.

Suddenly there were loud peals of laughter out of doors.  The old woman and the little boy hurried outside, where all the neighbors were gathered around the public fountain.  What had happened?  Oh, something very amusing and very extraordinary!  The children of all the rich people of the village, those whose parents had wished to surprise them with the most beautiful gifts, had found only sticks in their shoes.

Then the orphan and the old woman, thinking of all the beautiful things that were in their chimney, were full of amazement.  Presently they saw the priest coming toward them, wonderingly.  In the church porch, where a child, clad in a white robe and with bare feet had rested his sleeping head the evening before, the priest had just found a circle of gold incrusted with precious stones. 

The people realized then that the beautiful child with the carpenter’s tools beside him was the Christ Child in person, become for an hour such as he was when he had worked in his parents’ house.  And they bowed their heads before the miracle that the good God had seen fit to work, to reward the faith and charity of little Wolff.

The Pattern of Love

The Pattern of Love

Every year at Christmas time, our Service Club takes the children from poor families in our town on a personally conducted shopping tour.  I was assigned Timmy and Billy, whose father was out of work.  After giving them the allotted $4.00 each, we began our trip.  At different stores I made suggestions, but always their answer was a solemn shake of the head, no.  Finally I asked, “Where would you suggest we look?”

“Could we go to a shoe store, Sir?” answered Timmy.  “We’d like a pair of shoes for our Daddy so he can go to work.”

In the shoe store the clerk asked what the boys wanted.  Out came the brown paper. 

“We want a pair of work shoes to fit this foot,” they said.

Billy explained that it was a pattern of their Daddy’s foot.  They had drawn it while he was asleep in a chair. 

The clerk held the paper against a measuring stick, than walked away.  Soon, he came back with an open box.  “Will these do?” he asked.

Timmy and Billy handled the shoes with great eagerness.  “How much do they cost?” asked Billy.  Then Timmy saw the price on the box. 

“They’re $16.95,” he said in dismay.  “We only have $8.00.” 

I looked at the clerk and he cleared his throat.  “that’s the regular price,” he said, “but they’re on sale;  $3.98, today only.”

Then with the shoes happily in hand the boys bought gifts for their mother and two little sisters.  Not once did they think of themselves.

The day after Christmas the boys’ father stopped me on the street.  The new shoes were on his feet, gratitude was in his eyes.  “I just thank Jesus for people who care,” he said.

“And I thank Jesus for your two sons,” I replied.  “They taught me more about Christmas in one evening than I learned in a lifetime.”

Presents

Presents

It was the end of the school year, and a kindergarten teacher was receiving gifts from her pupils.  The florist’s son handed her a gift.  She shook it, held it overhead, and said, “I bet I know what it is.  Some flowers.” 

“That’s right,” the boy said, “but how did you know?” 

“Oh, just a wild guess,” she said.

The next pupil was the candy shop owner’s daughter.  The teacher held her gift overhead, shook it, and said, “I bet I can guess what it is.  A box of sweets?” 

“That’s right, but how did you know?” asked the girl. 

“Oh, just a wild guess,” said the teacher.

The next gift was from the son of the liquor store owner.  The teacher held the package overhead, but it was leaking.  She touched a drop of the leakage with her finger and touched it to her tongue.  “Is it wine?” she asked.

 “No.” the boy replied, with some excitement.

The teacher repeated the process, taking a larger drop of the leakage to her tongue.  “Is it champagne?: she asked. 

“No,” the boy replied, with more excitement. 

The teacher took one more taste before declaring, “I give up, what is it?” 

With great glee, the boy replied, “It’s a puppy!”

How to get to Heaven

How to get to Heaven

My parents were a good example of a happily married couple. They were married for almost 58 years.  They didn’t agree on everything but I don’t remember ever hearing them argue.  I could tell if they were unhappy with each other because of the tension in the air, but they were still polite. I think often it’s the wife who gives in and tries to hold the peace, but in their case dad also tried. 

When I was older Dad told me about a time early in their marriage that changed the way he treated mom.  They had had a disagreement that made him really mad.  After arguing during the day he went to bed that night fuming, knowing he was right and that she had better repent or she would never make it to heaven.  He said he woke up in the middle of the night with a start, unsure if he had just had a vivid dream or if the Lord had actually spoken to him, but remembering clearly what he had just heard.  The words were simple.  “Even if she is wrong, it doesn’t matter.  Unless you make her happy you won’t go to heaven.”  After that, even though he wasn’t perfect, he made up his mind to make mom as happy as he could, and he really did.

Zippers

Zippers

I heard a story once about a couple who had a fight and stopped talking to each other for a whole week.  By Saturday they were still mad at each other. The wife had a meeting that afternoon, but as she dressed she found she couldn’t reach her zipper and needed her husband’s help.  She wasn’t about to talk to him, so she motioned with her hands and he got the point.  As he zipped her up he jabbed the zipper into her back a couple of times, just to let her know that he was still mad at her.

When the wife got home a few hours later she saw her husband’s car in the driveway.  Obviously he was working on something underneath because his legs were sticking out on the side.   As she passed the wife reached down, grabbed the zipper on the pants, and jabbed it in a couple of times, to get back at her husband.

She got the shock of her life, though, when she walked into the kitchen and saw her husband sitting at the kitchen table drinking a glass of water.  “Who was that man out under your car?” she gasped.

Surprised she was talking to him her husband replied, “Our new neighbor.  He offered to take at look the leak under my car.”

Horrified, the wife explained what she had done, and her husband ran outside to try to explain to his neighbor why someone had just jabbed him with his zipper.  He called his friend’s name but know one answered, so the husband bent down and looked under the car.  There lay the neighbor, out cold.  He had been so surprised when a strange woman jabbed him with his zipper that he sat straight up, hit his head under the car, and knocked himself out cold!

Six Months

Six Months

One day a woman went to see her lawyer, asking him to draw up papers so she could divorce her husband.  She told the lawyer that she really wanted to make her husband pay for all the years of misery she had endured with him, so she wanted the lawyer to make the divorce as nasty possible.

The lawyer told the woman that if she filed for divorce now it would probably make her husband happy.   Obviously he didn’t love her any more than she loved him.  On the other hand, the lawyer said, if the woman would wait six months to file for divorce they could fix it so that her husband would be devastated.  All the woman had to do was to be as nice as possible to her husband during those six months.  Then the husband would really be sorry when she dumped him

After thinking about it for a while the woman decided this was a good plan.  So for the next six months she worked as hard as she could to spoil, baby, and be sweet and loving to her husband. 

When the six months were over the lawyer called the woman and told her he had divorce papers all ready to serve to her husband.  The woman gasped in disbelief and said, “Divorce him?  Heavens no, I don’t want to divorce my husband.  He has become the sweetest, kindest, most lovable man in the world!”

Doilies

Doilies

One day a young cowboy married his sweetheart.  On their wedding night the young bride put a shoe box on the top shelf of their closet and  asked her new husband to never look in it.  Of course he wanted to please his wife so he agreed, and soon he forgot all about the box.

Years passed.  Eventually they grew old and the wife was sick and dying.  One day the old cowboy was  looking for something in the closet and he stumbled across the shoe box.  He decided the time had come to talk to his wife about it, so he brought the box to her bed. 

“Ethel, sweetheart,” he began.  “This box has been on the top shelf of our closet since the day we married.  I’ve never looked in it, but now I think you should tell me about it.”

Ethel smiled tiredly, patted the bed, and motioned for her husband to sit next to her.  When he was settled she carefully removed the top of the box.  Inside was a little yarn, a crochet hook, 3 doilies, and $5000.  The old cowboy looked for a second, then turned to his wife with questioning eyes. 

“Honey,” Ethel explained, “on the day we married my mother gave me this box and said that every time I got mad at you I should release my anger by crocheting.”

The old cowboy looked at the three doilies, then back at his wife with moist eyes.  “You mean you have only been mad three times in all these years?  But, where did the $5000 come from?”

“Oh, that’s how much money I made selling the doilies,” his wife answered.

Their Heavenly Reward

1.

Did you ever hear about the elderly couple who died and went to heaven?  St. Peter met them at the Pearly Gates and welcomed them in, then told them to follow him and he would take them to their eternal reward. 

He led them down a beautiful tree lined street, past mansion after mansion, until at last he stopped in front of one of the most beautiful estates in heaven. 

"This is your eternal reward," he told the couple.  "Would you like to come in and see it."

"Boy, would we!" they both delared. 

So St Peter walked them up the flower lined walk, past ornate gardens and fountains borded with tall trees and lush grass.  The front doors of the mansion were solid gold, and St. Peter pushed them open and led them inside their new home.  Their were hundreds of rooms inside, all filled with beautiful art, antiques, and wonderful furnishings.  Each room they examined caused the couple to oooohhh and ahhhhhh, until they came to the jacuzzi room next to their huge bedroom.  When they saw it the wife had to sit down and catch her breath, neither of them could believe what they were seeing. 

After examining the entire house St.Peter told them to follow him outside to see the wonders of their back yard.  Beyond the pool and tennis courts they could see an 18 hole golf course waiting for them to come play. 

When he saw his own golf course, the elderly man turned to his wife in frustration and exclaimed,  "Darn you Mable!  If it hadn't been for your bran muffins we could have been here 10 years ago!"

The Story Lady

Hi, I'm Gale, and I like to tell stories.  When I was a little girl mother used to listen while I told her about movies I had been to see, dreams that I had, or stories I heard at school.  She was patient and a good audience and she made me feel like I was a pretty good story teller, so I kept on talking.  As I grew older and became a school teacher I had the chance to tell stories every day, and it became one of my favorite things to do. 

My kids will tell you that I tell too many stories, they used to roll their eyes each time I would begin a new one, but they were sweet enough to listen anyway and I think they enjoyed most of them. 

The other day I decided it was time to write down some of my favorite stories.  I would like my grandchildren to hear them, and someday my great grandchildren, too.  I have no idea how many stories I know, but I wondered if I there were enough to fill a blog, at least for awhile, and I would like to share them with you, too.

So I'm going to try to write a story every day, or at least part of a story every day.  Some are quite long so they may have to be in installments.  If you enjoy them, I'm happy.  If not, you're lucky, because you can just stop reading.  My poor kids still have to keep listening to me.  It's a good thing they love me.

Gale